


this is me trying

by themetaphorgirl



Series: Dreams Are Only Blue [3]
Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Adoption, Alex Blake is a queen, Alex is a great mom, Drama, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Panic Attacks, Spencer Blake AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-12
Updated: 2020-10-13
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:42:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26979778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themetaphorgirl/pseuds/themetaphorgirl
Summary: A series of drabbles from the Spencer Blake alternate universe (James and Alex adopt nine year old Spencer)#1: abandoned
Relationships: Alex Blake/James Blake
Series: Dreams Are Only Blue [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1935466
Comments: 13
Kudos: 163





	this is me trying

**Author's Note:**

> whumptober day #8
> 
> prompted by dinosaur anon
> 
> "Where Did Everybody Go?"
> 
> “Don’t Say Goodbye” | Abandoned | Isolation

Spencer crawled into bed, pulling the scratchy blanket up to his shoulders. “Your mom will be here soon, okay?” the school nurse said. “I’m going to call her right now. I’ll turn the lights off so your eyes won’t hurt as much. But call me if you need anything, all right?”

“Uh-huh,” he said in a small voice. He didn’t dare try to nod- his head already felt like spikes had been hammered through his temples. The nurse switched off the lights before she closed the door and retreated to her office, leaving him in soft darkness. 

He counted back. It take around six or seven minutes for the nurse to call Alex and discuss the situation, and it would take around ten minutes for her to talk to Uncle Hotch and leave her office. And then it was a seventeen minute drive from the BAU to his school. So thirty-four minutes. Forty-five if he rounded up. He could do that. 

He squinted up at the clock in the dark. It was ten-thirty, so she would get there by eleven-fifteen. He could do that.

At least his new school took him seriously when he had headaches. At his old school he was lucky to get a couple of chalky chewable tylenol pills, much less getting dismissed to the nurse’s office in the first place. His teacher always thought he was faking it, trying to get out of class. And the nurse rolled her eyes, called him a “frequent flyer.” And not once did they ever call Diana and ask her to come pick him up. Not that she’d show up, anyway.

Spencer pulled the blanket over his head. His head hurt so badly, making auras rise up in his vision, pressure building behind his right eye. He tried to go to sleep- it helped, it always did, but it was so  _ hard  _ to fall asleep. Sleep had always evaded him, leaving him reading books by flashlight in the wee hours of the morning and dozing off at his desk in school, but he’d started getting better at it lately. But he wanted to be in his own bed, in his own room, with his favorite blanket and his pajamas and the comforting knowledge that James and Alex were right down the hall. 

The throbbing pain in his head surged and he whimpered into the thin flat pillow. Forty-five minutes would go by soon, and Alex would take him home, and everything would be okay.

But forty-five minutes passed, and then an hour, and then an hour and a half, and she wasn’t there.

Panic swelled in his chest, making his breath break from his lungs in ragged gasps. Maybe something happened. Maybe she wasn’t coming. Maybe she’d disappeared, and the bubble would pop, and he would be right back to wear he started.

Spencer climbed down clumsily from the bed, but his balance betrayed him and he fell to the floor, striking his palms against the cold slick floor. He whimpered, his voice too loud in his own ears, and he crawled under the bed, huddling underneath it with his knees pulled up to his chest.

She wasn’t coming. She wasn’t coming, and it would be just like before, the times when his mother would walk out the front door and he wouldn’t know if she would be back in an hour or a day or a week. 

He couldn’t breathe. His chest heaved with effort, air clogging in his lungs, burning and sharp. He was alone, and no one was coming. No one was going to come for him, and he was left to struggle through on his own.

And then he could hear people talking through the door, Alex’s soft husky voice clear but her words indistinct, but he didn’t feel better, he couldn’t slow his breathing down. Maybe she wasn’t there at all. Maybe he was hallucinating. Maybe all of this was a dream and he’d wake up on the dusty couch in the shabby apartment, wondering if he was alone and if he was going to get to eat that day.

The door opened, sending light from the office in a soft shadow across the floor. He couldn't move.

“Spencer? Honey, why are you on the floor?”

He forced himself to open his eyes, and he could just make out Alex’s blurry shape. “Can’t breathe,” he gasped, reaching out for her blindly. 

“Is he all right? Should I-”

“No, no, just let me sit with him for a little bit,” Alex said to the nurse. She sat down on the floor beside him and lifted him onto her lap. The door closed, the light blinking out, and Spencer struggled to grasp the front of Alex’s shirt. 

“I can’t breathe,” he sobbed.

Alex pressed a kiss to the top of his head. “You’re having a panic attack, but you’re okay,” she told him softly. “Close your eyes. Can you take a breath for me?” He struggled to obey. “Good, baby. You’re doing so good. Can you take another breath, and hold it for me?”

He couldn’t hold it for very long, but the next breath he could keep. “You’re doing such a good job,” Alex praised, her hand pressed to the back of his head. “Next breath, let it out slow, okay? I’ll count for you.”

He exhaled as slowly as he could, and Alex counted softly- breathe in for four, hold it for four, exhale for four. Her voice was soft and measured, and she held him tight, one hand tangling in his hair, her other hand pressed firm enough against his side to bring him back to the ground. He didn’t realize he was crying until she brushed a tear away with her fingertips.

“You’re late,” he said into her shoulder, small and whining and accusatory.

“There was a bad wreck, I got stuck in traffic,” she said. “Did you think I wasn’t coming?” He held tighter to her shirt, fresh tears welling up and running down his cheeks. “Oh, dearest. You never need to worry about that. I’ll come for you. I’ll always come for you.”

He wrapped his arms around her neck and she rocked him gently. “You’ve had a hard day, haven’t you, my love?” she said, kissing his temple. “Let’s go home.”

She stood up and picked him up easily. He kept his eyes closed and leaned his cheek on her shoulder. Alex kissed him again, and he knew that she was telling the truth. She would always come for him. He didn’t need to be afraid anymore. 


End file.
